


Tis the Season...for an Existential Crisis

by KBates



Series: Junior Editor Universe [2]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: 2017, American Politics, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Holiday Season, Holidays, Humor, Politics, Pop Culture, Romance, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-02-15 05:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13024050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KBates/pseuds/KBates
Summary: Visiting Junior Editor Universe after one year, during the holiday season…Sanj tries convincing Sarah to write another book. Sarah ponders the impossibilities of her relationship and her identity. Elle gets accidentally knocked up and panics. The Goblin King…is up to his usual devious trickery. Tis the season...WARNING: left leaning politics and a ton of social commentary.A type of holiday fic that doesn't exist in Laby fandom (so far) and will probably not exist anytime in the future. *Wink*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So S and J’s relationship will be fairly permanent—but it isn’t going to be easy. *Wink* Relationships that are too easy are boring. [If you ever wanna know more about me, look up batesybates on Tumblr].
> 
> This was supposed to be a one shot, but looks like there’s another part coming. Happy holidays, folks.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth or associated characters.

**Tis the Season**

\--

_(Quick recap)…_

**Sanjay and Michael** – married in the Bahamas. Live in NYC – Sanj shuttles b/w working in London and NYC—same publishing house.

 **Elle and Marc** – married in San Diego. Live in San Diego. Elle has a wedding planning business. Marc is opening up chains of liquor stores across small cities / towns in red sates.

 **S and J** – started dating seriously. Sometimes it’s smooth – sometimes it isn’t. Living situation caused a ton of arguments. S lives in NYC, J lives in his castle.

\--

_(One year later…a restaurant…somewhere West Village)…_

“Sales have been shit this year, Sarah,” the dark haired man says as he cuts his steak almost artistically—the man knows how to use his cutlery well. “ _Laughably_ shit.”

Sarah Williams raises her brows. “I thought one of your books won the Man Booker Prize, another was shortlisted for a Pulitzer? And didn’t The New Yorker have an article featuring you as a top exec in a major publishing house?”

Sanjay shakes his head—a jaded gesture, his dark eyes losing their characteristic sparkle. “ _Sales_ have been shit,” he repeats, stressing the first word. “The world thrives on garbage—that’s what’s become of the written word. Not many people want to read books that are shortlisted for the Pulitzer—and I don’t think people this side of the Atlantic realize the significance of the Booker prize. I need your help.” He takes a sip of pinot and scrunches his nose—too bland.

Grinning at the face he makes, she observes, “Let me guess—the wine’s shit?”

He gives her a nod. “Someday I’ll learn to lower my expectations…but _this_ is not drinkable.” He signals for the server. “Can you get me anything else that has _some_ taste, no matter how atrocious, please? The owner of this vineyard,” he pauses, indicating the bottle of pinot, “…should be incarcerated.”

Sarah laughs at that—Sanj is _such_ a wine snob 1. “You want me to perpetuate more garbage so your sales projections go up?”

“Well… _yes_ ,” he answers bluntly. “I know you’re quick—write me something with an early 20s insecure heroine and a rich, powerful sex god with uncharacteristically blue collar mannerisms.”

“Sanj…I’m done with that,” she says with a shake of her head. “The world’s turning into one scary place and I refuse add to the collective stupidity of humanity.”

Sanjay laughs sarcastically, while simultaneously giving a quick nod to the server, indicating he’s satisfied with the new bottle that’s brought out for him. “Sarah darling, stop being so dramatic.” He holds up a hand when she opens her mouth to reply. “The world’s headed for destruction whether you participate or not—may as well make some money along the way. I’ll give you half my bonus if sales projections go up.”

“ _What_?” Sarah’s ears perk up at that—Sanj’s bonus is no meager sum.

“You heard me—half my bonus for a rubbish read. It should be fairly substantial if I have a _Gracie Lou_ book in the works.”

She frowns, his offer is a little too tempting to refuse. Now that she is… _free_ …she has all the time in the world to write a bogus romance. And she could _definitely_ use the money. She’s spent most of Gracie Lou’s earnings on the down payment for her apartment and her travels, her bank account is looking emptier by the day—especially now that she’s back to living in the city full time.

“Why are you so desperate for a high sales figure?” she asks, curiously, “It’s not like getting a smaller bonus will make the tiniest of dents in _your_ bank account.”

He gives her a grin. “Competition. It’s always been a weakness of mine. Seeing the numbers go up gives me a high like nothing else…except for sex perhaps.”

“SARAH!” An energetic brunette with caramel highlights, wearing one too many layers, whirls around their table before taking her seat. “Hello! How’s everyone doing?”

Sanjay raises his eyes—half displeasure, half surprise. “You called your flatmate?” He turns to Elle, “I thought you lived in San Diego.”

Elle doesn’t take note of his annoyance as she grins at him. “Former ‘ _flatmate’_ ” she says, making quotation gestures as the word’s unfamiliar to her, “…and _best_ friend. Nice to see you again, Sanjay. My family spends Hanukkah in New York with my great uncle.”

Sarah looks at her friend in surprise—she hadn’t expected Elle to show up for her lunch meeting with Sanj. Not that Elle is one for strong boundaries, but she’s certainly not the type to barge in on a work lunch unless something serious was up. “Hey Elle—thought we were meeting after lunch?” she asks, giving the girl a quick, sideway hug.

Elle flashes her an apologetic look, her hazel eyes flicker with unease. “Sorry…I was sort of having a panic attack.”

“WHAT?” Sarah exclaims—her friend’s not the type to panic—not seriously, anyway.

Sanjay, meantime, eyes the exchange with mild curiosity before pouring himself another glass of the new bottle—what is it—merlot? Better choice. It’s a bit unnerving that he’s having lunch with two kids…okay, not kids, but two girls in their 20s, but they may as well be kids compared to him.2

“I’m…I…” Elle stammers, her face breaking out into a half smile—half grimace. “I’m pregnant.”

Sanjay raises his brows. “Congratulations,” he says crisply.

Sarah can’t help but gasp aloud—Elle turns to Sanj with a frown on her face. “It’s an accident. I’m fucked.”

 _Oh dear_. Sarah pats Elle on the shoulder soothingly. “I mean—it could have been worse. Both your businesses are doing well—you could have been _broke_ and pregnant. How _is_ Marc?”

Huffing loudly, Elle replies, “He’s fine—perfectly controlled. He’s already started a savings portfolio and a medical emergency fund.”

Taking this conversation as his cue to leave, Sanjay stands up and takes out his wallet. “Allow me to get the check, Sarah—Elle, wish you all the best with your… progeny.” He turns back to Sarah. “If you’re on board Gracie Lou, I need a draft by two days—that’ll give us ample time for edits.”

Sarah gapes at that. “You do realize it’s the holidays, right?”

A shrug. “I thought your father’s off to St. Lucia for a vacation, and your mother’s filming in Paris?”

Elle jumps into the conversation before Sarah has a chance to reply. “You _can’t_ go—I need some grown up advice!”

Looking bewildered for a few seconds, Sanj sits down…and pours himself another glass of the merlot. “I’m a gay man in his late 30s—what advice could you possibly want from me?”

Elle loses no time in bombarding him with a personal question. “You remember when your boyfriend was working all the time and you were thinking of breaking up with him?”

“Why, yes _I do_ , Elle,” he replies, voice sharp with sarcasm, before turning to Sarah, “I had no idea Sarah shared the details of my life with her flatmate.”

Elle takes no notice of his tone. “Well…Marc works all the time. Like seriously, ALL the time. He’s obsessed with opening up new stores—I had no idea small-town-America drank that much alcohol.”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Self-medication.”

Elle rolls her eyes in agreement. “Probably. Fact is, Marc’s obsessed,” she turns to Sanjay, her hazel eyes wide in anticipation. “What should I do?”

Poor Sanj has no idea. “Uh...Did Marc work at Goldman?”

Shaking her head vigorously, Elle replies, “Nope, he worked at Citi—wanted to go to Wharton, but freaked out about the economy and student loans last minute. Came up with this liquor store chain idea in some of the freakiest parts of the country—did you know, I was in middle-of-nowheresville last month?” She looks at Sarah, but continues, without letting either of the other two speak. “I went into this country bar thinking maybe I’ll run into someone like Eric Northman or Bill or Jason,”3 she pauses to roll her eyes. “None of them were there—what I learned instead, was that _obesity_ is a _real epidemic_ in America and some people will try and justify that the confederate flag is not _at all_ a racist symbol.”

Sarah laughs—Sanj looks bewildered, still. “Who are Eric, Bill, and Jason?” he asks Elle—now genuinely curious.

Sarah laughs harder—Elle doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed.

“Eric’s this vampire that’s really old and from Sweden or something.” Elle doesn’t take in Sanj’s utterly confounded expression. “But that’s not even important—some woman comes up to me and starts railing on Muslims. Like seriously, out of the blue coz she thought _I_ was Muslim because she said I _looked different_ —and I was all, _excuse_ me bitch, I’m Jewish, and of Armenian descent. And _then_ she tells me how much she supports me—acting like I should bow down and thank her, all the while still being a racist bitch to Muslims. Anyways, just as I was about to tell her to take her fake-support, racist bullshit and shove it up her ass, Marc hauls _me_ outside and _yells_ at me…can you believe it? He’s all, don’t argue with these people, they carry machine guns.”

“Is there a point to this story, Elle?” Sanj asks, not sure what she wants from him. “Apart from Eric the vampire being absent?”

Elle takes a few breaths. “Marc’s on site, in one of these places, two to three weeks every month and I can’t even visit him because—let’s face it—some parts of the country are fucking scary. Now I’m supposed to stay in San Diego—have a baby—while he’s on some mission to be a liquor baron of places that are full of the kind of people Bill Maher interviews in Religulous!”4 She clenches her fists. “I’m so fucking stressed and I can’t even drink coffee or alcohol or take a Xanax because I’m fucking KNOCKED UP!” She says the words loud enough that more than a few tables stare at her—but she doesn’t seem to care.

“Right,” Sanj says, shaking his head, completely bewildered as to what she expects from _him_. “I don’t know what to tell you, other than that Citi workers are known for being psychotic workaholics. It takes a special kind of high functioning sociopath to be attracted to a company like Citi—the work culture is known for being cannibalistically brutal. If it wasn’t liquor stores in God-knows-where, it’d be something else.” He turns to Sarah. “Now that _that’s_ over, I expect an outline by two days—imagine Elle’s racist lady is your target audience.”

Sarah gives her former boss an incredulous look. “You realize you want me to write a book where neither of you, nor _I_ , would exist?”

Sanj sighs—“I thought we’d covered this the first time around—and going by your name, you’d exist as a character—your mom wouldn’t be Jewish, but Sarah _Williams_ ,”5 he stresses the last name, “would certainly exist.”

Sarah rolls her eyes at him, she knows what he’s getting at. Still—it’s damn annoying—and with everything that’s happened in the last year, she doesn’t know if she can advocate such a book. “I’ve become weirdly political with all the Nazi marches going on. Religion never even came into play before, I’ve always considered myself someone who teeters between being agnostic and atheist—but now I’m all ‘yes I identify as Jewish, you have a problem with that?’—and it’s not even a religious thing, it’s a _political_ thing.’”

“Oh, I definitely agree,” Elle chimes in—“Forget religious, I’ve become a Republican.”

“ _What_?” Sarah exclaims. “You’re joking, right?” _She has to be._

Elle shakes her head rather seriously. “No, I’m not. Have you seen the stats behind the votes? The poorest of people from the poorest of states are more likely to vote for racist assholes.6 I’ve never been this unsympathetic to the poor in my life—hell, I saw a documentary on people from rural Mississippi and some of the things they believe— _I can’t even_. People don’t believe in birth control? Have six _or more_ children? Then complain that their living standards have become lower? Then spend their welfare checks on crystal meth and oxy? Then spew racist hate on Obama? Then spew more racist hate on every minority they can think of?—why have so many children to begin with?” She stops for a few seconds, contemplating something. “Now I feel bad—I sound like Draco Malfoy hating on the Weasleys….though the Weasleys never spent money on crystal meth or Oxy. Anyways, if establishment Republicans stop the whole anti-abortion and homophobic angle, I’m voting for them. Bring on the tax cuts—stop _fucking_ redistributing California’s wealth to some backward state or the other. And if people _actually want_ the _right_ to work in a coal mine, without any health benefits, because Obamacare is communism, while subsisting on a diet of Hardees—then let them do exactly that.”

To Sarah’s surprise, Sanj nods. “If there _were_ a business friendly party which didn’t cater to homophobes, misogynists, or racists, I’d vote for them in a heartbeat…but the fact remains, there isn’t.”

“THIS!” Sarah interrupts, gesturing at Sanj and Elle—“This conversation is becoming increasingly depressing! The more apathetic we become, the more _they_ win,” she says to Elle, before turning to Sanjay. “How can I write a book full of characters that don’t believe anyone else exists? Scratch that—they don’t _care_ for the existence of those who are different— _that’s_ what gets me the most. That not-so-subtle racism of—the ‘oh, I’m not a racist but it’s a fantasy and _people like that_ don’t exist in fantasy’ variety of people.” 7

Sanj listens to Sarah’s logic with a knowing smile. “I don’t disagree with anything you’re saying, Sarah darling—but what sells, _sells_. We can’t get into the ethical side of things. However…” he looks into his glass of wine, contemplating what to say next, “…I suppose you could write another book—a nonfiction.”

‘ _Nonfiction’_ catches Sarah’s attention. “On what?”

Letting out a long suffering sigh, Sanjay looks her in the eye—this book wouldn’t be a bestseller, though it should, but perhaps it’s something that needs to be written. “Your thoughts—clearly, you have _innumerous_. Write about life as a 20-something-year-old _woman_ living in Trump’s America. Write about how bullshit new adult books are outselling, well, pretty much everything else. Write about your political awakening—religious identity. Ethnic identity. Write it all.”

Sarah sits back—contemplating his words. “Do I have enough opinions to fill an entire book?” She looks up sheepishly. “Don’t answer that.”

Sanj laughs. “ _Trust me_ , you do.” He makes a gesture at Elle—“Write about your friends’ experiences—their changing political views and how unnerving you find the whole experience. Write about me. Michael. Your agitation with Bessie Mays—your thoughts on them—don’t be too harsh though, there’s a fine line between classism and commentary.”

“How do I do that?” She asks, stopping herself from rolling her eyes. “It’s hard to write about…the Bessie Mays of rural Mississippi and other similar areas…without focusing on socio-economics. I don’t want to come across as Draco Malfoy hating on the Weasleys.”8

“Bessie May is a state of mind, 9 Sarah—a state of _voluntary ignorance_. Sure, people from certain regions may be more prone to being in that state of mind, but there are exceptions. Write, repeatedly, that you understand there are exceptions. Get me an outline by two days and we’ll take it from there. Actually, talk to Michael—his mother, Deb _,_ teaches political science at NYU.”

Sarah thinks about the timeline. “Two days is impossible—I’m planning on drowning my sorrows tonight.”

“Sorrows?” Elle interrupts, wide eyed. “What sorr— _ohhhh_ , you mean Mr. Sexy Model.”

Sanj takes in that piece of information. “Swedish House Mafia not in the picture anymore?”

Sarah glares at Elle for slipping that out before replying. “No—and I thought you called him Norwegian model—the Scandinavians aren’t interchangeable, you know.”

He laughs quietly. “He was uncharacteristically ostentatious for a Scandinavian. You sure he isn’t a Russian oligarch? The clothes, the cash, _that hair_ —makes far more sense.”

Rolling her eyes as she sees Elle join in on the joke, Sarah holds up her hands. “He isn’t an oligarch,” she pauses, oligarch would be a better fit than model or Mafiosi…never mind, not the point. “And he’s not completely out of the picture, we’re on a break.”

This catches Elle’s attention, her hazel eyes go impossibly wide. “Does that mean you’re allowed to see other people?”

 _Oh no_. Sarah knows from experience that an enthusiastic Elle is extremely difficult to deal with—she groans. “I don’t really know—we never really talked about it.” It had been more of a screaming session, followed by her stomping out of Jareth’s castle…only to go sheepishly back to him so he could transport her back to her tiny apartment.

Elle looks positively distressed at Sarah’s explanation. “Haven’t you seen Friends? That episode where Ross and Rachel are on a break and he sleeps with someone…and Rachel’s all ‘why?’ and Ross is all ‘BUT WE WERE ON A BREAK?’”10

Sarah rolls her eyes at Elle’s dramatic tone. “He can do what he likes—and fuck him if he tries dictating my life on Earth.”

Sanjay cuts in, a brow raised—“As opposed to dictating your life on _Mars_?”

“Let’s not talk about him anymore,” Sarah says with a small growl. “I can get you the tentative outline by the end of the week—that work?”

“That works.”

Curiosity getting the best of her, Sarah asks, “But what about _sales_? I doubt this book is going to be a hit with the Bessie Mays of America.”

Sanjay sighs, a look of abject sorrow crosses his eyes. “Forget sales. Some things are more important.”

“Did you just utter the words _forget sales_?” Sarah gapes at her former boss. “Are you dying? Should I call 911?”

“Very funny,” Sanj says sarcastically. “Perhaps your book will decrease the world’s collective stupidity, somewhat.”

\--

_(A cafe near Sarah’s apartment)…_

Elle holds her perfectly highlighted head in her hands. “I’m so fucking screwed! I never thought I’d be the kind of person who gets pregnant at 26. Twenty-fucking-six!”

Sarah hands her a box of macaroons, hoping it’ll cam her down. “Come on, Elle—it’s not the end of the world. At least you’re not 16—26 is young, but not _underage-shotgun-wedding-in-the-deep-South_ young.”

“I’m too irresponsible—three months ago, much before I got pregnant, I had like 11 glasses of champagne at brunch,” Elle laments. “And _then_ I decided _not_ to get a terrier because I can hardly take care of myself—how the hell am I supposed to take care of another human being? I can barely hold my cousin’s baby because he’s so small and wriggly—I’m scared I’ll drop him.”

Sarah looks away—not sure how to respond to that. She’d never been great at holding babies—including her own brother who’d been one crying, annoying, _infuriating_ infant. 11 As much as she loves Toby now, he’d been a horribly behaved baby.

Taking a bite of a passion-fruit and chocolate macaroon, Elle continues. “They made us watch a video of a live birth in health,”12 she looks up with a horrified expression. “How can something so big come out of a vagina? All the blood and the shit…OH MY GOD…I’m so FUCKED.”

Shuddering as she remembers a similar video from her health class, Sarah responds with, “Well…you’d have to do it sooner or later, so…I think it’s supposed to be easier when you’re younger.”

Elle shoots her a look that says ‘ _really_?’ “What would _you_ do if you found out you were accidentally pregnant?”

Sarah’s jaw falls open as a shiver of horror runs down her spine. “Don’t even go there.” She knocks on wood. “Here’s hoping that doesn’t happen.” She thinks of the modified premise for her new book—‘coming to terms with being a woman in Trump’s America—political awakenings—cultural identity—and sudden, accidental pregnancy caused by magical nightmare King.’ _Yikes_.

Elle gives her another look that says ‘ _see_.’

“You don’t have to have it, you know,” Sarah says gently—it’s true enough.

“Yeah, but like you said, I _do_ want kids eventually…and we _are_ doing well enough…my mother’s _really excited_ …and there’s no real, _traumatic_ reason _not_ to…you know. My therapist is helping me feel more secure about being a mother…oh God, sounds so strange saying it,” Elle says with a sigh. “She says it’s healthy to vent out my frustrations.” 13

Sarah smiles. “Okay, vent away. Let’s go for a walk—we’ll do something touristy like gape at the tree outside Rockefeller Center and eat cupcakes at Magnolia.”

\--

_(Sarah’s dad’s house, CT)…_

Sarah rummages through the pantry—it’s the second day she’s spent wearing her pajamas. She’d decided to head on over to her dad’s place as no one is there are the moment—but instead of writing, or getting through the large reading list Deb had given her, she’s been… _well_ …snacking intermittently while watching shitty reality TV. In her pajamas. _All day_.

 _Argh—the pantry is almost empty—I’ve probably eaten all the food_.

“I wish there was something I could eat,” she mutters before holding her hands to her mouth.

_Fuck. Double fuck. Fuck to the n th power. _

She looks around the massive kitchen and dining area that’s open to the family room…on the lookout for silvery gold hair and black leather. Breathing out a sigh in relief when she doesn’t notice any magical beings within her vicinity, she goes back to raiding the pantry.

 _Oat biscuits_? Ew.

 _A jar of olives_? She pulls that out— _may as well_.

 _Aha_!—a pack of kimchi flavored Korean ramen noodles— _score_!

Sarah frowns at the cooking instructions on the packet— _as if_ she’s going to spend ten minutes stirring the damned thing on the stove! She empties the contents and the spice package into a large bowl—fills it up with water—and puts the entire thing in the microwave for five minutes. Cooking made easy. She looks at the microwave as the clock counts down—10 seconds—5 seconds—2 seconds…

A quiet chuckle. “Are you quite sure that’s edible, Sarah?”

Whirling around with a start, Sarah glares at the Goblin King who’s appeared out of thin air. “Perfectly,” she says curtly—“ _I wish_ isn’t an invitation, you know—you can’t show up every time I wish for something.” She stops herself from growling when he breaks out into a wicked grin—one that shows his sharp teeth.

“ _Can’t_ I?” Jareth croons—“Looks to me, as if I _can_ , precious creature.”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Great—you win. Let me eat my lunch in peace.”

Raising a perfectly arched brow, Jareth asks, “That’s your lunch?”

“It’s not that bad,” she mumbles, pulling a drawer and taking out a pair of chopsticks. She puts a bunch of noodles in her mouth…only to yelp…and rush over to the fridge.

Jareth raises both brows, a look of bewilderment in his pale eyes—he watches as she pulls out a bottle of water and chugs it. “Are you sure it isn’t so bad?”

“Hot,” Sarah offers as an explanation. “What do you want?” she asks, doing everything in her power _not_ to look at him. 

Rich laughter. “Would you care to look at me, _precious thing_?”

\--

To be continued…

\--

 


	2. Tis the Season...for Discussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note—I was going to write a quick story with Jareth, Thor, and Loki, but I read one racist-ass fic where the author literally (freaking literally) compared a woman of color to a goblin—LMAO—at first, I was all diversity in a Laby fic? Can it be? Then I was all ‘whoa, author just compared a poc to a goblin—I can’t even.’ (Not a single call out in the reviews). This reminded me of a fic I read some time ago, where Sarah uses the n word—yes, that n word. (Not a single call out in the reviews). I just had to write this chapter.

 

 

\--

_(Sarah’s dad’s house, CT)…_

_Rich laughter. “Would you care to look at me, precious thing?”_

Pursing her lips, she does—trying her best to keep from expressing any emotion. The bastard is way better at presenting an impassive façade than she is. “What’s up, Jareth?” she asks.

The Goblin King’s dual eyes lighten with humor at her words. “Nothing is _up_ , Sarah,” he teases. “I came to see how you were faring.”

She smiles tightly. “I’m fine.”

A slow laugh. “I disagree, _precious thing_ ,” he croons, a brow raised. “You’re clearly upset about something—perhaps you should speak to me instead of shutting yourself in your father’s house and eating…” he scrunches his nose at her bowl of ramen, “…that.”

“I…” she begins, eyes wide when she realizes she can’t voice her fears—she doesn’t want to sound like a needy, whiny, clingy mess. Elle’s warning about Ross and Rachel’s break had disturbed her far more than she’d let on—she wonders what he’s up to, whether he’s seeing someone else. Or sleeping with someone else. The thought makes her feel a sense of possessiveness she’s never experienced before…and she doesn’t like it. “…never mind.”

Jareth stops himself from sighing harshly— _stubborn girl_! “And here I thought mortals were more in tune with their emotions.”

The derision in his tone does the trick—she glares at him, her eyes bright with fury. “Maybe you should stop stereotyping all mortals, Jareth.”

A sharp grin. “My apologies—I now realize there are mortals like you with the emotional range of a…” he tilts his head, thinking of an adequate word, “…let’s say, miniscule quantity.”

Sighing deeply, she takes her bowl of ramen and heads over to the sectional couch—sinking in and leaning back. “I guess we need to…talk.”

He stares at her for a few moments before following her to the family room and slinking down on a rather comfy recliner. “Allow me to start,” he says, determined to get through to her. “Perhaps I pushed you too hard regarding your…living situation. I apologize.”

She gapes at that—he’d never apologized for anything. She didn’t think him capable of it.

“Well?” he asks with a brow raised, a booted leg tapping impatiently against the hardwood floor. “It’s your turn.”

“I…I,” she stammers, feeling like an idiot. “Um…I.”

“Really, Sarah—are you incapable of forming words? Has your capability for speech diminished to equal the numerical value of your emotional range?”

“Do you have to rely on cutting sarcasm every time you want to make a point?” she asks through gritted teeth—it’s a miracle she’s stopped herself from telling him to fuck off.

A laconic brow. “Do _you_?” he throws back, his dual eyes turning more heated by the second.

The intensity of his gaze elicits a shiver. “I don’t know where this is going,” she blurts out without thinking. _Idiot, idiot, idiot, ‘I don’t know where this is going’ is the quintessential beginning to any good breakup speech_ —her mind screams at her. That’s not what she wants…but she can’t seem to stop…the thought of turning into a possessive, clingy mess is one of her worst fears. “I mean—we’re too different.”

A cold, harsh smile. “After weeks of being apart to _think_ , as you put it, the profound conclusion you’ve reached is ‘we’re too different?’” His voice is deceptively low, yet something dangerous burns in his eyes.

She shrugs, looking away as tears prick her eyes. Such a simple reason—yet something that couldn’t be solved. “I have my whole life ahead of me,” she says, voice wavering as she swallows a painful lump. Elle’s quick marriage and pregnancy, scares her all the more—as much as she supports her friend, she doesn’t want that life for herself—not at _26_. “I don’t know what I’ll do—maybe write a work of non-fiction, maybe take the LSATs and head to law school. Point being, I’m not some aimless person looking to escape my life. I have a _kickass_ life and I don’t want to abandon it to play fantasy princess.”

“Fantasy princess?” He laughs, long and hard—a rich, throaty sound. “You don’t want to be a _fantasy princess_ ,” he repeats. “That’s what you think of my life—that it isn’t _real_ enough for you.”

She looks up at him, wide eyed—unable to stop a traitorous tear from sliding down her face.  “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that.”

A slow smirk stretches his lips in a cruel, thin line. “Oh? You didn’t?” He’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t after seeing her wince in pain. “Stubborn girl,” he murmurs, walking up to her and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Perhaps you _are_ too young, with too much to prove.”

His kindness makes her cry harder—she presses her face against his chest, breathing in his scent. But she isn’t done talking. “I want to _do_ something—make an impact in the world, _my_ world. I need to be somebody _meaningful_ , Jareth—not a bullshit romance writer who gets carried off into the sunset by a magical king. I need to be _more_.” What remains unsaid is— _I can’t do that if I’m with you_.

Placing a gloved hand under her chin, he looks into her eyes. “Of course you need to be _more_ —you’re Sarah Williams,” he says softly—his words genuine, there’s no mocking edge to his tone. “I will… _miss_ you.”

With that, he kisses her on the temple before disappearing from her view—leaving her alone with her tears. And a cold bowl of ramen.

\--

_(Somewhere in a restaurant near Elle’s great uncle’s place)…_

Elle stares at her friend in shock—unsure of how to process the information that’s just been given to her.

Sarah rolls her temporarily puffy eyes. “Say something.”

“You broke up with him, just like _that_?” Elle asks with a snap of her fingers. “Mr. Sex God with a tongue that can do a thousand tricks?”

Groaning, Sarah puts her head in her hands. “I’m bad at relationships.”

Laughing, Elle responds with, “ _I’m_ bad at relationships—you suck _monumentally_. What were you _thinking_?”

Sarah frowns—trying to recall the exact sequence of events. “I thought about what you said—the Ross and Rachel thing,” she pauses to laugh, hearing how ridiculous she sounds, “—and…I realized I would be extremely… _upset_ …if he slept with someone else.”

Elle gives her a confused look. “So did he sleep with someone else?”

“I uh…never got around to asking that.”

“Seriously?” Elle exclaims. “You broke up with him because you’d be _hypothetically_ upset if he _hypothetically_ slept with someone else?”

Sarah shakes her head. “The point being, I _shouldn’t_ have been so upset—I don’t want to put myself in a position where the state of my mental wellbeing is in the hands of someone else.”

Elle can’t help but burst out laughing at Sarah’s dramatic wording. “ _Mental wellbeing_?” She gives Sarah a snarky look that says ‘come on, who’re you kidding.’ “Bullshit. You’re in love with him and hate that you feel out of control.”

Cringing when she hears the L word, Sarah ponders over her friend’s words. _Were they true_? She knows she’s physically drawn to Jareth in a way she’s never been drawn to anyone—but _love_? Love is fucking complicated and messy—she’d seen it with her parents.

“I don’t think I’m in love with him yet—but I could have been, later on,” Sarah says with a shrug.

Elle rolls her eyes. “Why didn’t you guys have this conversation a month in, instead of waiting for a whole year?”

A heated blush colors Sarah’s cheeks—she’d discovered a wonderful distraction technique every time a serious conversation had come up. Sex. Hot, monkey sex. “Well…I just sort of fucked him senseless every time it came up.”

“OH MY GOD, Sarah Williams!” Elle chides. “You need to see a therapist and learn how to express your feelings. Anyway, what did _he_ say?”

“He said he’d miss me, and left,” Sarah’s tone is blunt, but she feels a twinge of bitterness. Shouldn’t he have said something? Fought to keep her? She knows it’s ridiculous to feel that way as _she’s_ the one who ended it—still…she can’t help feeling miserable.

“Oh,” says Elle, taking in the information—she can see that Sarah’s more than a little heartbroken. “Why don’t you stay with us for a few nights, Sar? My great uncle has an entire brownstone—you can room with me.”

Sarah smiles. “Thanks for the invite, but your great uncle freaks me out—your family gets a bit too…traditional during the holidays.” Didn’t help that her great uncle always looked at Sarah like she was some poor ‘religiously confused’ girl, _his words_ , in desperate need of some ‘tradition.’ He definitely didn’t seem to understand the phrase: secular, pretty much atheist upbringing.

Elle raises a brow. “You’d get presents. Like tons.”

Laughing, Sarah shakes her head. “Nah, I’ll head over to my dad’s.” She’s about to say something else when a blaring ringtone interrupts her. ‘Sanjay’ flashes on the screen.

“Sorry Elle,” Sarah says, swiping her phone. “Sanj? Don’t tell me you’re still working?”

She hears a harsh sigh at the other end. “Of course I’m still working—I’m in desperate need of your help. I feel like I’m fucking dying.”

“WHAT? What’s wrong?” Sarah’s quick to say, rising up. “Should I call 911?”

A harsher sigh. “No—I was speaking figuratively. Where are you?”

Elle grins as Sarah ends the call. “I love annoying the crap out of that guy—is he coming over?”

\--

_(Same restaurant, half an hour later)…_

Sarah breaks out in peals of laughter—her former boss sits across from her, arms folded, brows furrowed.

“This is hilarious,” Sarah says, in between gasps. “Now you know what it feels like.” Sanjay, in a fit of panic, had decided to quickly push a Bessie-May-esque book series for publication. Problem was, he hadn’t been able to find a junior editor during the holidays…hence, he’d taken on the task himself.

Sanj raises a brow, shooting Sarah an annoyed look—Elle chimes in, “I don’t get the big deal—it’s only a book.”

“Imagine the sharpest of nails being scratched on a chalk board for hours on ends—that’s what reading this book series _feels_ like.”

Elle shrugs. “My school didn’t have chalk boards—too old school. Apparently they cause breathing problems.”

Sanjay gives her a look as if to say ‘ye gods.’ “It’s torturous.” He turns to Sarah, dark eyes suddenly serious. “I’ve done the first two—I need help with two more. You up to it?”

“I could use the distraction,” Sarah says with a nod—“What’s the premise?”

“The usual—shy school teacher who’s only had sex once commands the sudden, lust ridden interest of a billionaire. There’s a bit of spanking involved—no people of color, except for a waitress, I think—even though it’s set in New York. Teacher takes cabs everywhere— _yellow cabs_ , not even Ubers, mind you—while on a piss poor public school salary. Oh, and the sexy man god drives a BMW—no detailing on the model—and parks wherever he pleases. In _fucking_ Manhattan.”

Elle makes a face, but Sarah smiles. She just cannot imagine Sanjay reading this story—the kind of facial expressions he would have made would have been priceless. “Let me guess—is there a Pretty Woman shopping scene involved?”

Sanjay smiles back. “Of course. She refuses at first, because she’s not a quote—gold digging blond slut—unquote. But he convinces her to shop for overpriced clothing on Fifth Avenue. All sales associates try flirting with him—but he only has eyes for her.”

“Ugh,” Sarah says with a disgusted grimace. “I always hate those shopping scenes—go to school, get a decent degree, get a job, and buy your own fucking clothes—dammit!” She holds up a hand when Sanj tries cutting in. “Yes, I know, I should watch my _privilege_.” She says the last word using air quotes.

Laughing, Sanjay responds with, “You _are_ ridiculously privileged, Sarah darling—own it.”

Elle frowns, trying to make sense of the storyline. “How can you make four books out of _that_?”

“You’d be surprised,” Sarah replies, shuddering as she remembers her days as a junior editor. “There’ll probably be some ridiculously minor misunderstanding that gets blown out of proportion and bitchy ex-wives and girlfriends.”

“Sounds like a white trashy version of Sex and the City,” Elle says wrinkling her nose.

Sanj lets out a very un-Sanjay like guffaw at Elle’s… _interesting_ …expression. “ _White trashy_? I don’t think you should use the term, Elle.”

Elle shrugs. “According to the census 1970s onwards, I qualify as ‘white’ so I can say ‘white trashy.’ And I don’t care about owning my privilege anymore—I’m a Republican.”

Sarah breaks out into laughter at Sanjay’s comical expression—this is just what she needs to forget about Jareth—for the time being anyway. “Oh, Elle,” she can’t complete her thought as laughter takes over.

With a frown on his face, Sanjay asks, “Are you _joking_? Or are you actually serious?”

Elle isn’t the least bit affected by Sanjay’s incredulous look. “The _Republican_ thing? Serious—you march in Nazi marches, you lose my sympathy when you become poorer and dumber.”

Sarah sobers up at that. “Elle, you realize that the poorer and more illiterate the majority population gets, the more dangerous life becomes for the rest?”

Sanjay nods. “A large, well-functioning middle class is the backbone of every well-functioning democracy, Elle. That might be difficult for us to understand as none of us fall into the middle class bracket, but it is true. Racism, as complicated as the term is, and prejudice are only exacerbated with economic difficulties. It’s in our best interest that even the most illiterate racists have some economic stability.”

Sarah shakes her head—not buying that particular line of reasoning. “I count as middle class, and I’m not like that! How is racism complicated? A racist is a racist, _period_.”

It’s Sanjay’s turn to laugh. “Sarah darling,” he says, “As I’ve told you previously—your father’s a corporate lawyer, stepmother’s an OB-GYN, and your mother’s a fairly famous actor. Your family’s yearly income exceeds 500K easily, _without_ taking your mother’s earnings into account. You may not be in the top 1/10 th percentile of the top 1 %, but you’re most certainly _not_ middle class.” He lets that information sink in for a few moments. “And as for racism—it is complicated—and it is a spectrum. I remember being called a racist once, during a heated discussion.”

“WHAT?” Sarah asks, wide eyed. Elle orders a decaf green tea to go and bids a hasty farewell, clearly bored with the conversation.

“There was a discussion going on about immigration, and the Netherlands of all places—and I said that as a gay man, I could certainly understand the sentiment of being uncomfortable with a large population of religious people who would not approve of same sex marriage.” Sanjay smiles as Sarah gapes at him. “As I said— _complicated_ , but beside the point. Can you finish the edits by tomorrow?”

Sarah nods. “I may be able to finish them both tonight—need the distraction.”

Sanjay raises a brow. “Swedish house mafia problems?” He notices that her eyes are puffy—possibly because she’s been crying.

She shakes her head. “It’s over, so no problems,” she says with a forced laugh. “I’ll be fine.”

Sanjay looks at his watch. “Take my car—I’ll ask the driver to drop you home. I’ll take the subway to Michael’s office—we’ll head to dinner from there.”

Sarah raises her brows at that. “Michael’s still working—it’s 8—and it’s the holidays!”

“Yes, well, workaholism isn’t that complicated—a workaholic is a workaholic, _period_.” He grins at her as he uses her words. “If the next thing you’re going to say is ‘look who’s talking’—don’t bother. I get the irony.”

\--

To be continued…

\--

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN—of course there’s a third (and final) part coming up. I’ve suddenly become really active on tumblr (handle—batesybates) so head on over there if interested.
> 
> For Sarah to get totally serious about Jareth—I don’t see it happening easily—indefinite long distance relationships barely ever work out (she doesn’t have the personality type to make that work anyway)—and Sarah would have to give up a large part of herself to live in a different world.
> 
> I always gape when people write Sarahs (esp small town/city Sarahs with limited life experience) who’re happy giving their whole lives up and popping babies right away. It’s like—really? Does she have no ambition at all? Bitch please, go climb Kilimanjaro if you have to—just do something.
> 
> And of course, J is all ‘you are real and poorish and not swayed by my awesome magic and wealth and giant dick – you’ll make a great queen even if you’ve literally experienced nothing of importance, ever.’ Give me a fucking break.
> 
> The ‘racism is complicated’ thing—after living in a few different places in the world, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s super complicated. Too heavy a topic for this platform. [But PSA – comparing a person of color to a goblin? Definitely racist. Sarah using the N word? Definitely racist].
> 
> I put on this list of recommendations in the last chapter of Antithesis. Am reposting it here b/c as fun as reading/writing fanfiction is—there’s a lot more to read and see and do, in general—esp stuff that’s good for one’s brain. Gimme your recs in the comments or PMs.
> 
> Some recommendations
> 
> The Meyerowitz Stories on Netflix – hilarious movie. Totally Noah Baumbach. Adam Sandler can act (like he shows us once in a while with Punch Drunk Love and Spanglish)—still, it’s always surprising when he doesn’t play a total idiot. Tag line from imdb-- An estranged family gathers together in New York for an event celebrating the artistic work of their father. If you enjoy a decent family dysfunction movie—this is it.
> 
> Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Professor Yuval Noah Harari—it’s a giant massive book on humans, humanity, culture, cultural changes, psychology—personal and social—EVERYTHING. Human evolution and cultural change—how we are today/ how we were. I can’t describe this book other than say that you MUST read it. Tag line from wiki-- account of human history within a framework provided by the natural sciences, particularly evolutionary biology: he sees biology as setting the limits of possibility for human activity, and sees culture as shaping what happens within those bounds. The academic discipline of History is the account of cultural change.
> 
> Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Holy shit, it’s an amazing book. Tag line from wiki-- Americanah tells the story of a young Nigerian woman, Ifemelu, who emigrates to the United States to attend university. The novel traces Ifemelu's life in both countries, threaded by her love story with high school classmate Obinze. I’d kept meaning to read this book back when it came out—finally managed it and WOW.
> 
> Elon Musk—watch his Ted Talks on the future. Insanely gripping—to me it’s a narration of human ambition. We can reach for the stars, people!
> 
> Salma Hayek’s article on Harvey Weinstein in The New York Times—gut wrenching.
> 
> Tiffany Reisz’s The Original Sinners book series—if you’ve ever wanted to read non-sexist BDSM—this is it. Such witty dialogue. A lot of snarky commentary on the Catholic church.


	3. Tis the Season...for Kosher Vietnamese Food

 

 **Note** —Elle’s loosely based on one of my cousins. Her dialogue has been fun to write.

**Part III: Tis the Season…for Kosher Vietnamese Food**

\--

_(Elle’s great uncle’s house)…_

Elle taps her pen against a notebook as she stares at the words she’s written—and crossed out—and rewritten. A frown furrows her well-formed brows. She knows she must be careful with her words when summoning _him_.

She recalls the time Sarah had told her all about Jareth—

_\--for what he truly was, and not some Norwegian model shtick. She’d always known Sarah’s boyfriend, if one could call him that, was strange—not collects egg shells and washes his hands every five minutes strange, but truly strange. Then things had gotten stranger and stranger—there was also the fact that Marc never wanted to be within a five mile radius of the man._

_Anyways, there’d been one particularly strange night when they’d been watching television and Ed Sheeran had come on…after which, Jareth had started a tirade about some leprechaun who’d stolen his crown jewels. And by some leprechaun, he meant the very talented Ed Sheeran who was playing his guitar with a rather knowing gleam in his eye—or so Jareth had claimed._

_Instead of calling Jareth a lunatic on acid, Sarah had tried convincing him that Ed Sheeran wasn’t the leprechaun who’d stolen his crown jewels. At the moment, Elle had burst out laughing at the absurdity of the conversation…but then she’d been shell shocked when Jareth had disappeared into thin air._

_Zip._

_He’d been there one moment, and gone the next._

_But never mind that._ Elle knows she has to focus on the future.

“Alright Elle,” the brunette with expertly done caramel highlights tells herself, rising up and throwing a fist in the air. “No point beating around the bush. You can do this! And if he tries anything, kick his balls into oblivion.”

“I wish…” she begins, her earlier enthusiasm fading a bit, but she forces herself to keep calm and carries on. “I wish Jareth, the Goblin King, would come and speak to me for an hour. _Right now_.”  She looks around the room, eyes wide in anticipation—waiting for some sort of thunder or lightening, or some other ominous cue that signaled his arrival…

…instead, all she hears is a trace of a mocking laugh. “Surely, this is a rather poorly conducted joke.”

Elle’s jaw drops open as she takes in the presence of the Goblin King in all his regalia—his clothes are as black as the darkest night. Or are they so blue that they seem black? It’s a color that she’s never seen before, not even in the biggest Crayola box. His hair is wild, giving him a ferocious look. His usually unnerving eyes are hard—they glitter ominously as he eyes her, a cruel smirk on his thin lips.

“Um…” Elle begins.

A raised brow. “You summon me here…you interrupt my dinner…and your first thought is…um?”

Shivering at the underlying tone of danger in his voice, Elle holds her head high—regaining a semblance of her audacity. “Well _excuse_ me, a magical faerie showing up in the middle of my room rendered me speechless—it’s a normal human reaction.”

Jareth, for his part, looks rather bored—the mocking expression remains on his face, as he saunters across the room and makes himself comfortable on a hideously pink, plushy couch. “So…” he says, tone deliberately slow. His dual eyes study her piercingly. “Elle…what do you wish to say?”

Elle rolls her eyes in spite of the sudden rush of fear she feels at his rumbling voice. “Duh, I wanted to talk to you about Sarah, of course.”

Her words catch Jareth’s interest—he can’t help but sit up a little straighter. “Continue…”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the commanding tone in his voice, Elle decides to humor him. The sooner they have this conversation, the sooner she could fix this ridiculous situation with him and Sarah. “She misses you, you know.”

A slow laugh. “I know _that_ —but that doesn’t mean anything where Sarah is concerned.”

Growling in frustration, Elle can’t help but glare at the smug, somewhat jaded monarch. “So you’re just going to let her walk away because she’s doesn’t want to be upset if you’ve _hypothetically_ slept with someone else? What the fuck is wrong with the two of you?!”

The Goblin King loses his well-built composure at Elle’s words. His eyes widen and he asks, most ineloquently, “ _What_?!”

_Ha! So now he’s interested!_

It’s Elle’s turn to smirk. “Yeah, that was her reasoning.”

Jareth stares at the petite, waspish human in front of him, an incredulous expression on his otherwise impassive face. He’s damn confused. “But I _haven’t_ slept with someone else. The topic hasn’t even come up in conversation—why would she be upset?”

“That’s not her point. She’s pissed at herself for caring,” Elle explains, forcing herself to keep from laughing at his expressively raised eyebrows—gives him the look of a confused owl.

And just like that, the Goblin King’s expression goes from bewildered to terrifyingly furious, and Elle finds herself taking an involuntary step backwards by reflex. Good lord he looks _insane_. And angry. A dangerous combination where magical entities were concerned.

“Um…yeah…I know I said an hour, but feel free to leave any time you want,” Elle stammers, laughing nervously as she takes another step back.

An eerily disarming smile. “Elle,” Jareth croons. “You have summoned me for an hour and I wouldn’t do you the disservice of leaving early. I would be very obliged if you would disclose some more of Sarah’s… _perceptions_.”

_Oh Lord fuck a donkey._

He didn’t sound pissed off anymore—he sounded dangerously calm. His words sounded like something Mr. Darcy would say, but his tone was pure Jeffery Dahmer trying to lure some poor soul into his apartment.

“Well…she’s taken on this project of writing a really detailed, complicated book to distract herself,” Elle replies honestly, keeping her voice as steady as she can. “You know Sarah—she’ll force herself to forget her problems. Not that _you’re_ a _problem_ ,” she adds the last part hastily. “I think her WASP side kicks in and she forgets she has any feelings.”

A look of confusion passes through Jareth’s cold eyes. “Sarah is part…wasp?” That makes no sense to him—if anything, this girl seemed more of a wasp than Sarah.

Elle can’t help but burst out laughing at that—Sarah hadn’t been kidding. Jareth wasn’t familiar with human terms at all. “Yeah, she’s part WASP, but not the kind of wasp you’re thinking—and never mind, that has nothing to do with anything.” Forgetting her fears, she steps towards him, a determined glint in her hazel eyes. “Forget Sarah for a second—let’s talk about you.”

A laconic brow. “Me?”

Crossing her arms, Elle gives the confused monarch a stern look. “Yes, you. Do you even know _anything_ about Sarah?”

“She’s not exactly…forthcoming.”

Elle rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Lame excuse, dude. You knew the kind of person she was before you guys started dating…or _whatever_ it is you guys were doing. If you cared enough, you would have pushed her to open up.” She heads to her desk and pulls out a file and hands it to Jareth. “These are some of the notes she’s been working on for her book—gives you a bit of a background on her.”

The Goblin King raises both his brows as he reads the title. “Culture, Politics and Jewish Identity in 21st Century America?”

“Yep,” Elle replies, nodding vigorously. “Read it, learn it—understand it.”

“Very well.” A small smile plays on Jareth’s thin lips at her wording. “I shall do all three.”

“Perfect! In the meantime, I’ll have a chat with Sarah.” Elle looks devilishly conspiratorial as she rubs her hands together in glee.

Jareth shoots her a disbelieving look. “You think to change her mind?”

The tiny brunette flashes him a maniacal grin. “Never underestimate my powers when it comes to harassing the crap out of someone until they agree to my crazy plans.”

“And what you propose _I_ should do?” Jareth asks, half curious, half derisive.

“You should talk to her once you read her stuff,” Elle replies—she crosses her arms. “I know how this works between the two of you, mister. You bring up something that makes her uncomfortable, she jumps you and ‘fucks you senseless,’” Elle says that using air quotes, “…to distract you. Resist, dammit, resist! Keep it in your pants! I suggest wearing slightly looser pants as _that_ ain’t gonna work.”

At _that_ , the Goblin King’s jaw drops open—a hint of coloring spreads over his stark features. It takes him a few seconds to regain his composure, and he says icily, “I shall take your advice into consideration.”

“One more thing, stop boring her with stuffy lectures. Get to the fucking point quickly.”

The Goblin King murmurs ‘must not turn Sarah’s friend into a goblin’ a few times before answering Elle. “Did she tell you that I bore her with… _stuffy lectures_?”

Elle isn’t the least bit concerned with Jareth’s escalating anger. “Yep,” she says without second thought. “She said the age gap drove her totally crazy. She said you spoke like you were older than her grandfather sometimes. And that most of your parties made her want to die a thousand deaths because she’d rather watch paint dry. or she’d be totally scandalized—public orgies aren’t her thing.”

Gritting his sharp, sharp teeth, Jareth gives Elle a tight smile. “It so happens that I _am_ older than her grandfather. And as a king, I am required to attend various state functions that are known to be droning. As for the _other_ parties—she’s not exactly a prude, so I can’t begin to fathom why she’s _scandalized_ —no one forced her to participate in anything.”

“Whatevs, GK,” Elle shrugs off his answers easily. “You need to tone down the old man routine—Sarah’s not a girl with absentee father issues. As for your parties—find a middle ground between ‘boring as fuck’ and ‘wild orgies.’ Accept your differences, yo—you’re from the se-ven-ties but she’s a nineties bitch.”

\--

_(A kosher Vietnamese place, a small corner, somewhere in Lower Manhattan)…_

Sanjay takes out a bottle of Purell and deposits a generous blob on his hands after touching the menu. “Why are we dining… _here_?” He scrunches his nose as he looks at the ‘wine list’ – it’s got two options, red and white.

Suppressing a laugh, Sarah rolls her eyes. “Try new things, Sanj—have you ever been to a kosher Vietnamese restaurant before?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Bingo.” Sarah hands her former boss her outline.

But Sanj isn’t convinced. “How does kosher Vietnamese even exist? Don’t most Vietnamese soup based dishes have pork broth as a key ingredient?”

Sarah grins at him. “Fuck off—if vegan Vietnamese places exist, why not kosher? This is New York, anything and _everything_ exists.”

The dark haired man raises his eyebrows at that. “I suppose. Never mind that, how’ve you been holding up?”

“Good enough—editing those Bessie May books gave me some clarification as to why I’m not into romance. Especially with some big, powerful douche who thinks my life should revolve around him.”

“Still hung up on the Norwegian model, then?” Sanj winks at Sarah’s angry expression. “Don’t say you’re not, darling—you wouldn’t be talking about him with such venom if you weren’t.”

Sarah glares at her former boss. “Fuck him, okay—and fuck you for bringing him up.”

Sanj throws his hands up. “Point taken. Never bring up the tight-panted Norwegian, glitter devil—because you’re completely, utterly, _not_ hung up on him.”

Bursting into laughter, Sarah shakes her head at him. “Let it go, Sanj. Anyway—the sexless school teacher in New York story is climbing up the NYT list…so congrats on making the country dumber.”

“America’s stayed on top of the world’s power chain for too long—I’m trying to bring it down with one badly written romance novel at a time.” He grins—teeth gleaming white. “Don’t look at me like that—I’m giving you my bonus check.”

Looking thoughtful, Sarah wonders out loud, “Is it really worth it? Making money off morons…and making them _more_ moronic in the process? Aren’t we putting all of society into jeopardy?”

Sanj gives her a look that says ‘are you serious?’ “A book is just a book, Sarah—and these morons are just consumers. They consume products we sell them—think of it like that horrible orange puffy snack.”

Sarah snorts at that. “You mean Cheetos?”

“Yes, Cheetos. It’s like eating salt and dried, processed cheese powder—overconsumption increases the probability of morbid obesity and cardiovascular disease immensely. Do you believe Fritos-Lay gives a damn about turning all of…I don’t know…Oklahoma obese?”

“I don’t think all of Oklahoma is obese!”

A short laugh. “Not the point, Sarah darling.”

“Erm…no?”

“Exactly. And it’s not like you have to edit any more of those—you’re done with all four. Now you’re free to write your own book—expand on your notes.”

“Thank God for that,” Sarah says with an exaggerated sigh. “Is that really what someone from, say, Kansas thinks New York City is like? That a ‘rich’ person drives a generic model BMW and parks anywhere he pleases? That Armani is the only designer brand for men’s suits—don’t they know other designers exist?”

Sanjay shrugs. “Don’t know, not my problem. I’ve always found the manner in which the middle, _actual_ middle class, thinks the rich behave, utterly hilarious in its simplicity. All rich people are cold to their children—all rich people are horrible to service staff—all rich people are actually unhappy. All rich women are bitches, which is why the gorgeous billionaire finds the utterly boring school teacher so amazing. It’s a pathetic case of sour grapes, but I can see why it’s beneficial to think that way.”

“Why’s that?”

“The American Dream is nonexistent—they’re never going to climb up the socio-economic ladder, may as well vilify the top as something worse.”

Sarah words a silent ‘wow.’ “That’s really sad.”

Sanjay grins like the devil. “Anytime you think that’s ‘really sad’ use your friend Elle’s reasoning—however sad ‘ _it_ ’ may be, it’s not our problem.” He eyes a glass of allegedly ‘red’ wine that sits on the table, rather suspiciously. “The wine list in this restaurant, on the other hand…”

\--

_(Sarah’s studio apartment, somewhere Manhattan)…_

“You did WHAT?!”

“Don’t be mad, Sar—I gave him your notes. It’s not my fault you guys have a communication issue. Jeez, I’m just trying to help.”

Sarah closes her eyes and counts to ten. It wouldn’t be very friendly on her part, to hit Elle—especially considering the whole pregnancy thing. “I like _compartmentalizing_ my life, Elle. That means I don’t want him involved in every aspect.”

Crossing her arms, Elle gives Sarah a look that says ‘tough luck.’ “It’s totally clear that you’re in love with him and he’s in love with you. Fuck compartmentalizing your life, Sarah—sort this shit out.”

“So what am I supposed to do—wait around for him to show up?”

Elle grins at her livid friend and inches towards the exit. “I suppose—can’t talk now, gotta go. Have a plane to catch.” Saying that, the brunette races down the steps and into a waiting cab, leaving a gaping Sarah Williams behind.

\--

Fin.

\--

So…when do you think Jareth will pop up next?

 **AN** —there’s a whole bunch of pop-culture references there—b/c…why not? For the record, I love Cheetos.

There’ll def be a tangent story sometime in the future. S and J get together of course –I do see them together by the end of it all…but I’m going to showcase the difficulties of such a relationship….because… aren’t there enough ridic ‘and they lived happily ever after forever and ever and ever and ever in spite of their major personality differences’ fics out there? Long term relationships are hard people – add cultural gaps and major difference in opinions / value systems and you’re in for constant war. CONSTANT! Tis the story of my life haha. Maybe I’ll blog about it someday.

I have a theory that people who write super HEAs with only minor relationship problems, have never been in long term relationships. Just like people who slut shame, have never had good sex.

What else? I went to the annual Berkshire Hathaway meeting and wow. It was like a comic con full of finance nerds in khakis and pastel colored, Ralph Lauren polos—sadly, I fit in quite easily—and I’m not even that much of a finance nerd. Loved listening to the back and forth between Buffet and Munger (they’re hilarious)—the experience changed my perception of Nebraska (esp Omaha). I was impressed.

I …erm…recently made a man in his 40s cry. The man is an utter douche, treated his juniors like crap, refused to learn anything new—thought the world should revolve around him b/c he’s a man, and in his 40s—therefore ‘experienced.’ So…I let my aggressive side show in a culture that’s mostly passive aggressive—he couldn’t take it—cried and quit upfront (would have been fired in less than a month, but I’m so glad we avoided that—it’s always better when a bad worker quits as opposed to getting fired). Still…should not have made him cry. Oh well. I feel bad…sort of. Lol.

I know ‘old’ people bitch about younger people and how the newer generation is ‘spoiled’ and ‘entitled’ – BULLSHIT. IME, millennials are so much easier to work with—without ego issues—they work so much harder and smarter. So, young peeps—the next time someone’s bitching about your generation, tell em that you’re quicker, smarter, and willing to work 10 times harder—you’d replace them in a heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I don’t know much about wine snobbery (beer drinker here)—my fave wines are Gewürztraminers and Rieslings—both of which make wine snobs scrunch their noses—not fancy enough apparently. Hope I’ve written wine snobbery realistically.  
> 2\. As a 30-something, I think of those in their early-mid 20s as kids. Is it the same with everyone else in their 30s?  
> 3\. Eric, Bill, Jason—characters from True Blood—you will not encounter anyone similar to these characters in rural Louisiana.  
> 4\. Bill Maher’s Religulous—watch it. Hilarious. Also watch Real Time on HBO.  
> 5\. In all my fics (save for Devoured) Sarah identifies as Jewish – never comes up b/c I don’t bring religion in stories—her mom’s Jewish, dad’s an east coast WASP—she’s brought up in a non-religious, secular environment.  
> 6\. Sadly true.  
> 7\. “oh, I’m not a racist but…it’s a Fae story and people like that don’t exist in Fae stories” is the answer you’ll receive if you’ve ever asked why there isn’t much diversity in Laby fandom. Apparently, only people who look like the medieval Irish can exist in Fae stories (because modern day Ireland is a tiny bit diverse).  
> 8\. Draco Malfoy hates on the Weasleys because they’re not well off—that's an awful thing to do. But…but…but…while reading HP…did anyone else ever wonder why the Weasleys (and I LOVE all the Weasleys, Ron’s my fave character in HP) had so many children? Wouldn’t you rather have one or two kids and make sure they had everything instead of a gazillion kids who have torn clothes and tattered books?  
> 9\. Bessie May is a state of mind. One of my friends in HS and her family went to Paris for a vacation and they didn’t visit a single museum. Instead, they went to Disneyland. Were they well off? Yes. Reasonably educated? Sure. Bessie Mays? Undoubtedly—who goes to Disneyland in Paris if you’re from fucking GA?!!  
> 10\. But we were on a BREAK!!! Poor Ross.  
> 11\. Sarah finds babysitting Toby irritating even after solving the Labyrinth—she loves her brother—but she doesn’t turn into his personal servant—or his second mother. She grows up and has a life of her own. Oh my word.  
> 12\. They make anyone else watch live birth videos in health class? I’m still fucking traumatized. It made me double up on BC since the age of 19.  
> 13\. In a ton of Laby fanfics, Sarah’s this wonderful mother of the year, 1950s housewife who loves all things motherhood. And, of course, Linda is a selfish bitch for pursuing a career instead of staying barefoot, in the kitchen. Barf. Or, she’s considered terrible for letting Robert have custody—why?  
> Women have every right to vent—carrying a human in one’s body is difficult (understatement)—we’re allowed to be angry—we’re allowed to be annoyed with the changes it brings, physically and mentally—we have every right to complain. Mothers are human beings too and just because they don’t find all aspects of motherhood ‘ZOMG awesome’ doesn’t mean they’re bad people. What a thought.


End file.
